


Dress Up in You (aka Queer Eye for the Scummy Guy)

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John takes it upon himself to teach Anton how to dress; he's met with some unexpected friction. (Get it, friction.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress Up in You (aka Queer Eye for the Scummy Guy)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [6street](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=6street).



"I swear to Buddha, Anton. You have absolutely nothing to wear."

Anton sat on the edge of his bed, legs folded beneath him, and looked down at the growing pile of his clothes on the floor. He squinted as John threw more and more of his wardrobe atop the pile, until it seemed ready to topple over—a small mountain of black, gray, blue and more black.

"Buddha? What does he have to do with it?" Anton asked. He gasped suddenly when the jacket of his beloved blue suit hit the pile, quickly getting to his feet and nearly falling right into the pile, trying to retrieve the garment. "John, what the fuck? I love this suit!"

"That is _not_ a suit. It's a disgrace to fashion." John grabbed the jacket from Anton's hands, tossing it somewhere behind him. "You're getting older, you know. You're in your twenties now, so you can't just keep showing up to premieres looking like a scummy little hipster douchebag."

"I am _not_ a hipster," Anton grumbled, sitting back on the bed with a pout.

"It's weird that ‘hipster' is the adjective you object to, above all others. Far be it from me to judge, though. Here." John fetched the garment bag hanging on the front door of Anton's bedroom, unzipping it to reveal the finely made, double-breasted suit inside. "Now, _this_ is a suit. A suit you should wear. On your body. Out in public."

"It's so _old_." He wrinkled his nose, taking in the sight of the suit; it probably made John look like a million bucks but just wasn't Anton's style. "I can't even order a beer at a bar yet and you want me to dress like an elderly mobster? Stop trying to age me, man."

" _Elderly_? I should smack your insolent face. Here, look."

John took the jacket off the hanger then, pulling it on and standing before Anton's full-length mirror as he buttoned it. Anton sat up, watching wistfully. It did fit him like a glove; he recognized it as one of the suits that John wore for his _GQ_ photo shoot. He squelched the urge to reach out and touch the fabric of its sleeve, toying with the stretched-out collar of his own T-shirt instead.

"That's not fair. The _GQ_ people gave you that suit; it's not like you went out and bought it yourself."

"I have others like it." John turned around and held out his arms, letting Anton take a long look. "Now, see? Isn't this more sophisticated?"

Anton squirmed a bit, unable to gaze directly at John and staring at the shiny buttons of the jacket instead. "It's dashing. But it's not me."

"How do you know? Just try it on. Come on." John walked over to the bed and grabbed Anton's wrist, pulling him to his feet. He began to unbutton the jacket, nodding toward Anton's top. "And take off that ratty T-shirt; I don't want it touching the material."

"You're ridiculous," Anton said with a sigh, but he obeyed, stripping off the T-shirt. He could have sworn John gave him a once-over after he did, but then the older man was quickly poised behind him with the jacket, guiding Anton's toned arms into the sleeves. He reached around with both hands and buttoned the jacket for him, peering over his shoulder. Anton held his arms up to give him room and licked his lips, trying to ignore John's warm breath and the proximity of his body. "S'too many buttons," he commented.

"As Zach would say, sometimes one must suffer for fashion." He finished quickly enough and dropped his hands to Anton's waist, holding him still as they both looked in the mirror. The jacket was a decent fit, showing off a strip of pale skin along Anton's chest, from his clavicle down to the start of his stomach. The smooth surface flushed lightly under the other man's gaze and Anton ducked his head shyly. John lifted his brow, opening his mouth but saying nothing for a moment or two. Then he laughed, sounding oddly nervous, unlike his usual self. "It looks good," he finally said, nodding firmly. "I mean, the ripped jeans don't really do it justice, but..."

"I could try on the pants, too."

"Yeah, um...okay."

John stepped back then, letting Anton grab the garment bag that still held the suit trousers. He made a point of averting his eyes when Anton removed his jeans; Anton took the opportunity to subtly adjust himself through his boxers before putting on the pants. "Done," he said, once he'd zipped up. John turned and let out a breathy laugh at the sight of Anton wearing something other than dingy rocker-type clothes.

"Wow. All you need is a haircut and a cigarette and you could be Frank Sinatra."

"Maybe I'll just wear my fedora." Anton laughed, shrugging at his reflection and going over to his nightstand to fetch his open pack of cigarettes. He extracted one and lit it, taking a quick puff. "I could probably also use a shirt."

"You'll make the suit smell like smoke," John said, though he didn't really sound too displeased, standing there and watching Anton take long drags off the cigarette. Anton shrugged again and removed the jacket, draping it carefully over the back of a chair. "Jesus," John mumbled, pressing the heel of his palm over his mouth. Anton quirked an eyebrow as he looked at him through the smoky haze of the room.

"Don't tell me," he started, trying to sound casual as he searched John's gaze. "Now I look like a scummy hipster douche in nice pants, right?"

"Yeah, kinda." John dropped his hand, suddenly wearing an assured, easy smile. He twirled his hand, motioning toward Anton's pants. "Better take those off, too. Or I'll make you pay for the dry-cleaning."

Anton grinned at him and kept the cigarette filter perched between his pursed lips, reaching down to unzip the pants and step out of them. They both seemed to know where this was going now, and he gave John a full view of his ass as he bent down to collect the discarded pool of fabric, slinging that over the chair as well.

"Maybe you should try on my blue suit," Anton commented. He put out his cigarette in the ashtray on his nightstand, which was already filled with discarded butts. When he turned back to John, he found that his friend's smile had been replaced by a rather predatory smirk. He felt like giggling. "See what it's like to be scummy."

"Yeah, I'll pass, but thanks."

John stepped forward and Anton, feeling reckless and somewhat outside of his body (which was currently nude aside from blue plaid boxer shorts), grabbed the pocket of his shirt, yanking his hand hard enough to rip a large hole down the front. John's eyes went comically wide and he assessed the damage with a high-pitched, undignified squeal.

"Fun, right? Being scummy?" Anton teased. John scowled at him.

"You punk-ass _bitch_."

John made to grab him, grunting when he found no clothing to latch onto and merely swatted at bare skin. Anton laughed breathlessly and tried to back away, but John bunched his fingers in the cotton of his boxers, pulling them down halfway as he wrestled him closer. "Hey!" Anton yelped, tripping over himself in his attempt to keep the last bit of clothing on his person. He ended up grasping John's arm as he fell backwards into the discarded pile of clothes on the floor, pulling his friend into the mess of rumpled, frayed fabric. They landed together, face to face, and both men gasped when the awkward angle caused John to slide down, their hips grazing together. Anton met his gaze, his blue-gray eyes alive with shock and pleasure.

"Shit, John," he whispered, fisting a hand in John's torn shirt to hold him in place, even as he writhed uncomfortably. "You get this hard when you wear the suit yourself?"

John barked out a short gust of laughter, curling a hand into the worn cotton of a black T-shirt for balance. "You're getting too sassy for your own good. I've trained you well."

"Maybe the suit rubbed some of you off on me." Anton grinned at his own choice of words, reaching up to rip a bigger hole in the front of John's shirt and pinching his bared nipple between two fingertips. John jerked against him with a groan and Anton's soft laughter hit the heated air again. "Oh, this is _so_ happening."

"You bet your tiny hipster ass it is," John muttered. He pulled Anton's boxers past his hips with both hands and ground down against him; the rough denim of his jeans against Anton's exposed cock left the younger man stuttering for breath. Dark eyes squinted down at him with a blend of warmth and desire just before John ripped the shirt the rest of the way, yanking it off and pitching it toward the other side of the room. It landed on the already crooked lampshade, nearly knocking the base over.

"Quit wrecking my room, assmunch," Anton said, laughing as he unzipped John's jeans.

"Whatever, you owe me a shirt."

"I've got a million; take your pick."

Anton reached up and grabbed him by his bare shoulders, rolling them over so John was beneath him, getting him up-close and personal with the pile of hipster clothes. John sputtered in protest as Anton unzipped his jeans and pulled them down; he managed to get a few words out before lithe fingers grabbed him through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs: "I meant a new shi— _iiiit_...!"

"Fuck, John," Anton murmured, curls swinging before his heavy-lidded eyes as he uncovered John's cock and shifted to rub against him, skin on slick skin. John groaned and arched beneath him, scratching at his back as he rolled his hips, suddenly desperate for friction. Anton pressed both of his palms to John's shoulders and held him down, controlling the pace and the rhythm. To his surprise, John didn't try to fight him, just spread his thighs wider and took it, uttering a litany of delicious noises that were half-gasp, half-grunt. Anton shivered, watching the expression on his face change from surprise to lust to agony with each movement of their bodies. "If I had any interest...in getting up at all...I'd go get the lube and fuck you...past all my scummy clothes, right down into the floor."

"Don't fucking go anywhere," John warned, gritting his teeth and bucking up. His blunt fingernails dug into Anton's shoulders, his biceps flexing as he tugged him closer. Anton panted, mesmerized by the sight. "Keep your cock right here, where I can feel it."

Anton laughed, daring to lean down and steal a kiss, licking across John's bottom lip. "Can you feel it?" he asked, slowing his hips to an agonizing slide.

"Yeah...fuck, yeah." John grinned crookedly up at him, cupping the back of his neck, and Anton knew it was okay to kiss him again, so he did. This time, he lingered against that warm, chapped mouth, which opened and allowed his tongue ample time to explore.

Their kisses grew sparse and quick as the heat between them escalated, and soon they were panting hard, rocking faster as orgasm flickered brightly on the horizon. John came first, his hands splayed against Anton's back; he tensed and released heavy spurts between their chests, moaning the younger man's name. The hoarse rasp and unusually low register of his voice sent Anton over the edge, his wet mouth leaving a damp streak across John's shoulder, the skin there pink and burning with enflamed handprints. They both slumped weakly against the clothes pile, loosely holding onto each other as they waited for their strength to return.

"I'll dress like that all the time if it makes you act like that," Anton whispered moments later, his face buried against the side of his friend's neck. John laughed softly and toyed with his hair, too content to move from the pile.

"Got a better idea," he murmured. "Don't wear anything at all."


End file.
